Kill everyone, like Jesus would. Hi, I only got sixteen words into this book’s title before I started writing about it, so I’m not sure what to expect. Let’s explore 2014’s GOD & GUNS Why I am Not a Pacifist Defend Your Family! Kill Attackers in Christian Love together.
It’s obviously self-published by an eager gun owner named Greg Perry. The thesis of Greg’s book is tough to explain. He is a man of principled reason, again obviously, and he’s concerned about the rise in pacifism in Christian communities. His idea? For everyone, from individuals to the state, to kill more people. It’s not a new idea. In fact, most historians would call it “retro,” but its simplicity is clouded by Greg’s insanity, personality disorders, and terrible writing. For instance, let’s look at the back cover. Try to guess how many sentences it takes for Greg’s Christian murder manifesto to turn into entry-level misogyny.
Three! Three sentences! We don’t even know what we’re dealing with yet, and Greg has already blamed it on pacifism, Satan, pacifism, and women. If I’m being honest, I almost understand the sentiment. When you take away punching and add women, everything gets more complicated. But if I’m being even more honest, this man is nuts. Maybe things will make more sense next paragraph?
No, this is madness. This is an unfiltered look inside the mind of a man broken by an old church argument we’ll never hear the other side of. It looks like Greg wrote this to debunk the idea you can stop a wife murderer with Bible quotes, which is not something most people would have considered. Who told him this was a thing that happens? Is he maybe beefing with an episode of VeggieTales?
Greg dares you to read on, if you have enough hair on your chest! Oh shit, Greg!
So, okay, that was incoherent and stupid, but we all know a Greg. He’s a beef commercial man’s man who has opinions on the age of consent you simply aren’t brave enough to agree with. Greg is someone a Hooters waitress calls, “Oh, god damnit, this guy.” And I didn’t even have to look up his author photo to know it was the Discord avatar of an officer warning you if you miss another raid you’ll have to find a new World of Warcraft clan. Cowards! The frail! This is your last chance to leave! We are opening GOD & GUNS Why I am Not a Pacifist Defend Your Family! Kill Attackers in Christian Love!
Oh no, this is trash. Trash for ladies. I was hoping for violent incel, but this is a nerd moving words around on needlepoint art. “Swords into ploughshares? Maybe if you’re a little baby, Isaiah! Us real men do swords AND ploughshares!!” I’m not even sure how to respond to this. If you said this to me I think I would just pull you into two parts and throw them in opposite directions. Greg, this is how you opened your book? You’re splitting hairs on a Bible quote and calling it masculinity? The next page had better be instructions on how to kick your ass.
Oh my god, it really is. What a canny intelligence Greg has.
This is worrying because I think… I think this paragraph means Greg is going to be doing klutzy, impenetrable sarcasm in his book about when it’s okay to murder people. One of the complications with Christian gunman books is you never know whether the author is stupid because they’re dishonest or stupid because they’re stupid. Anyway, this page had his email, a link to a dead website called RightNerve.com, and an apology that he can’t get Google+ to work and isn’t sure if he printed the right link. It’s pathetic, but in a beautiful way, like a Fox News grandpa opening his plumage.
Holy shit. What are you doing here, Greg?
Why is he talking like this? Did Greg write this book for one very particular enemy? This is so belligerent, and for what? To make fun of the dummy Christian book consumer gun owner pacifist who forgot what Bibles were? This intended reader will never exist. I think Greg may have lost an argument with himself in the shower, and now he thinks the entire outside world is the strawman who made a fool of him.
Speaking of delusions, maybe I did this? I always thought one of my books would know I bought it ironically and try to defeat me. This could be that day.
This is a crazy way for a writer to talk to their reader. Especially around a topic like this. It’s absurd to think you could persuade anyone with abuse and insincerity. The relationship between author and audience can’t be adversarial, it needs to be massaged like your tense shoulders. You glance back and our eyes meet for a moment too long… a moment long enough to carry a silent understanding. Our mouths collide before our bodies and you nudely gasp, “I don’t even know you!” But you do. I’m Sean, and we’re in this article together. Our worlds become penetration, murder and misogyny are bad, and most of this Jesus shit is pointless. That’s how you start a real argument, Greg.
Greg probably thinks he’s doing a bit, but he’s been speaking to a singular, extremely unlikely reader for several pages now. We all kind of tailor our imaginary enemies to our skill level, and it’s revealing that Greg Perry is facing off against a vaguely Christian blob that can’t do any verbs. And I’d say his fantasy has reached its natural conclusion– the blob is watching its wife get killed by penises and offering only its loving support. Ha. You thought that would work, blob? Greg gently disagrees, you dumb blob.
It’s really quite a book. Great job, Greg. Anyway, that was Chapter One. We learned what a Bible is and saw our wife get sex killed. So what the fuck are we doing here? Why did you have us get our Bible out, Greg, if asking God for less wife murder is a stupid tactic that doesn’t work?
Name one type of Bible, fool. “C-Carlos?” you guess. Wrong. Greg is fucking dominating you with his Bible knowledge. All he had to do was start two consecutive chapters with imaginary arguments against a reader who barely knows Carlos Bible. “Hold on, wait,” you sputter. “You’re telling me that Carlos guy was named after a book?” Not really, idiot. Sounds like Greg was right to take this tone with you.
So, Greg, when you asked “What kind of book is the Bible?” the answer you were expecting was, “It’s a battle manual.” Buddy, you typed this where people can see it. And then instead of explaining how that makes any sense, you explained the Bible like one might to a puppet that just came to life. I think maybe you need to take a deep breath and try to figure out what in the goddamn fuck you’re doing, Greg.
So far, the only thing we’ve learned is three ways to categorize our Bible and a couple things not to do when a gang of cannibals is eating our wife. And yet Greg is already getting defensive that people are going to misunderstand him. He’s not promoting violence, you see. He’s just interpreting his religion’s scripture as a “battle manual” and hoping to one day shoot someone, anyone. I don’t think he needs to be so insecure, though. This next section about brandishing your gun proves him to be a very smart and reasonable man:
I don’t think Greg has law enforcement or counter terrorism training, or even a passing interest in the subjects, so his advice on de-escalating a hostage situation is more of a cute guess than anything else. He’s like a dumb guy, who knows nothing, some might say. But this situation is taking place in his imagination. If he’s telling us that only showing a gun to our wife’s attacker will make things worse, fine. We have to believe him. We choose A: Shoot gun at murderer.
I don’t think I disagree with Greg. I’m also a power tool chest hair big man, which means I don’t really care if family attackers get shot by vigilantes. Have fun, make ear necklaces, Tim Allen sounds. What’s concerning is that in a world of limitless maniacs and infinite paranoid delusions, Greg has decided the solution is quickdraw murder and nothing else. Most people could come up with a few ideas that don’t get attacker brains on your family, but Greg has considered only the one where he gets to shoot the guy having sex with his wife. I don’t know what it means. You’d need a trained psychologist to untangle such a notably specific and unflinching fantasy.
Greg advises us through another scenario involving a beer mob carrying baseball bats. In this case, you and your wife run away. There’s simply too many to shoot. Unfortunately, while he was losing hypothetical battles to his impotent fears at his word processor, a process he referred to as “working on some recent edits to this ever-improving volume,” he saw news coverage of a mass shooting. Greg doesn’t have a full understanding of what happened, either because he’s responding to incomplete initial reports or he was taken in by some weird media spin, but he heard the shooter asked his victims if they were Christian. So he did what any aspiring intruder killer with a tiny imagination would do: he solved it with karate hindsight. He explains how an unarmed guy with a 1-1 record against his wife’s imaginary murderers would have saved the day:
Ha ha his big idea is to zigzag around? And if that doesn’t work, “run away”? Or you could, and this is only for advanced tough guys, “kill the murderer.” The things you don’t want to do are, one, answer any murderer questions about your religion, and two, get murdered, end of list. I’m serious. Greg started a list of things not to do in the horrific shooting that already happened, only came up with two, and one of them was to not get murdered. There truly may not be a dumber, less necessary thing to say about any subject. People died and this little bitch’s sage wisdom is functionally identical to the instincts of anything plant or above.
I guess while the mood is light, Greg takes a hilarious jab at liberal 2-year-olds for not getting spanked enough. I don’t know why this is in the same chapter as his “ideas” for surviving a mass shooter. Maybe because it’s another ill-advised list where he was very stupid and stopped at two? Maybe because his brain is a disorganized collection of right wing bitterness and images of his wife being taken by madmen? Let’s keep reading and find out.
“I found the best church! Everyone thinks dinosaur bones are a lie buried in Arizona by Satan and also has a secret gun! In a split second any one of us, using the judgment I just described, could decide who deserves to be killed!” From the way Greg typed, I thought he was navigating the mean streets of some inner city, but the only gunmen he’s faced are two grandmothers who are probably quite pleasant until you bring up the topic of mixed marriages. With the comfort of all these guns, why is Greg so afraid all the time? Who in this small, tight knit community keeps attacking Greg’s family?
Greg opens Chapter Five hard, DESTROYING any hypothetical reader stupid enough to bring up God’s famous, sacred, unmistakable commandment against killing. The last chapter was about how much he loves hidden guns and spanking other people’s kids, so I don’t know why he’s suddenly screaming about the only Bible quote we know and why it’s wrong. I almost feel bad for Greg, because whatever this conflict is, he’s not winning it. He seems sort of confused about the idea of ideas in general. Like, it takes such a huge amount of intellectual dishonesty to pretend “THOU SHALT NOT KILL” includes mildew, so you can’t use it to set up a punchline or an argument. And Greg was so proud of it he repeated the bit until he got to AIDS. I’d normally make some wild analogy here, but this is like Jerry Seinfeld asking what the deal is with cancer over and over as it slowly kills him, which is the literal opposite of a joke, Greg.
Oh no. I knew Greg was a piece of shit, but I didn’t know he was a “God demands the death penalty for homosexuality” piece of shit. Or is he? He’s bad at explaining himself, so this may be another dumb thing his confused reader foolishly thinks? I’d better stop reading his stupid ass book and look him up.
…
Yeah, he’s homophobic and racist, but it’s… okay, I have to be delicate about this. I’ll start by showing you what the first half of Greg Perry’s writing career looked like:
It was aggressively normal. For years, Greg wrote dull computer textbooks for everyone from beginners to beginners. And maybe because there was no market demand for a 75th Visual Basic manual, or maybe because something conk-like happened to his skull, but along the way Greg went from “computer” author to “hggblggblggghg!” author. Here’s what the second half of Greg Perry’s writing career looked like:
One day Greg became a miserable right wing grifter and couldn’t wait to show you how! This is the bookshelf of someone who does two things: lose every penny they have and ruin Thanksgiving. And here’s where things get complicated. Greg was featured on an episode of Penn & Teller: Bulls…! about the tyranny of handicapped parking spaces. Greg came on the show to argue we should do away with them along with the American Disability Act, and yeah, of course he did. He’s a butthole. But he’s a butthole who was born with only one leg and three fingers. So what do we do now? On the one hand we’ve solved the mystery of why no one ever bullied these personality traits out of him, but on the other, he’s made roasting him problematic. I do not like feeling sympathy for the murder dweeb who agreed to be in this shot where he shakes his head in disgust at a parking spot wasted on the nowhere-to-be-found handicapped:
Greg is possibly worse on camera than he is in print. He makes childlike arguments about how the American Disability Act takes away bootstraps from lazy, greedy disabled people, and we need to let the free market decide how accessible businesses should be. And maybe there are unintended consequences of all good intentions, but I don’t think Greg has thought this through. I’ll go ahead and speed run this debate and say that if you let them, Wal-Mart would absolutely replace their wheelchair ramps with slavery. I only brought it up because I wanted to make the point that even in his area of expertise, Greg is an idiot psychopa– oh my god, holy shit fuck I just realized something…
Remember earlier when Greg’s brilliant idea to survive an execution was to move side-to-side and dodge the bullets? I thought it was dumb advice from someone who has never been in that kind of situation, but it’s even worse because… how do I put this? It’s also from someone who has never moved side-to-side? Brockway, be sure to delete that; maybe all this.
I’m still worried I’m on the wrong side of history, so here’s a shot of Greg’s twitter feed proudly denying climate change with no context for one (1) like. And that came two days after he posted a Chuck Norris meme in 2024 to attack the general concept of women.
I know it’s not enough to square things. I called a disabled man a little bitch. Hear me out, though. I hate having to do this, and this sentence is going to quickly accelerate beyond your darkest conceivable expectations, but as of press time, Greg’s latest post is a retweet of Rob Schneider enthusiastically retweeting Russell Brand kneeling before Tucker Carlson.
It’s too much. It’s a brilliant artist including all of humanity’s worst traits in one image. It’s a hacky, overwritten joke about the shittiest thing possible. I shouldn’t have looked Greg up. It was a mistake, and I apologize. Let’s get back to his book, hopefully with Greg saying something so horrible I can keep making fun of him.
Oh thank God, this is awful. A truly repugnant, hateful display. I appreciate it, Greg.
It’s Chapter Eight and Greg is still arguing with a man whose family has been kidnapped yet refuses to take any action other than Bible quotes. His advice is to stop being nice! It’s a trait of child molesters! Sorry, I must have misunderstood something. No. No, Greg’s opening argument for why you shouldn’t be nice is because it’s what child molesters do. Well, okay. I can’t move out of checkmate. There’s a reason Greg has written more than one book on how to win arguments.
Whatever pacifist Greg is fighting with has long since lost the argument and their family, but Greg is still going. Drunk on adrenaline, Greg gets extremely lost in some Sword of the Lord metaphor, but he does so intentionally. It’s in service of a killer Kleenex of the Lord joke you walked right into you fucking pacifist. Oh, is that what you wish it was called, widdle pacifist? You had no chance. Greg urges you to graduate Kindergarten, fucker. It’s pretty adorable how Greg set out to, no bullshit, advocate for more cruelty and murder and still writes insults like he’s the seventh grouchiest Muppet Baby.
Oh my fucking God, Greg “found” a second guy who refuses to rescue his wife with anything other than Bible quotes. Greg, I’ll make you a deal. If this person exists, your “Facebook friend” who sent you the suspiciously exact strawman argument you’ve been fighting for eight chapters, you can shoot anyone you want. As a representative of reality, I hereby condone it.
Let’s see if we can unpack all these layers of fantasy. Greg made up a guy with a bad plan Greg refused to believe he would do, then gave him the benefit of the doubt in order to prove not that it would fail, but that it would be a real turn off for his kidnapped wife. And not to be a dick, but on top of all that, there’s at least a small chance God wasn’t up there to begin with. What I mean is, we’re way too many “let’s say”s from where we started. If anyone is really this desperate to not shoot their family’s attacker, a sixth nested hypothetical isn’t going to convince them. The only thing you and your “Facebook friend” will ever agree on is that everyone’s wife will hate this.
Now this is going to sound crazy, but after this rambling magical nonsense, Greg makes a monster comeback and finishes his argument with a knockout:
Hell yeah. Greg says you should never pray at a bullet because even if Jesus hears, he will watch your stupid kidnapped wife die. This should be impossible to prove, but he does! Greg cites the eleven times Our Lord and Savior Christ let His own disciples die horrible deaths. And your wife isn’t even a fucking apostle, Greg’s Facebook Friend. So this plan you have? This plan everyone has? Of jumping in front of a gun and reciting the Bible? Consider it destroyed, for the third time this book, by Greg “Regular Parking Only” Perry.
We have shattered against the might of Greg. All we pacifists can do now is hope Greg doesn’t gloat.
Damn it, he gloated.
But at least it’s over. He got it out of his system. Greg moves on to the Parable of the Drowning Man, a story about a guy refusing rescue attempts because he’s sure God will send help, only to die and find out those boats and helicopters were the way God sent help. It’s a classic, and you can tell it as a joke if you want. Or, like Greg, you can tell it and retell it with your wife’s sexual assault for an entire book. But again, at least it’s over. Greg has explained how all these lewd criminal acts represented the Parable of the Drowning Man and we can move on to something el–
God damn it, Greg.
We understand Jesus will never help our wife, and maybe even wants to watch her die badly, but prayer has to have some effect on the bullets, right? Uh oh, what did I say? I’ve lost my mind, right? There’s no way I’m setting up a chapter Greg wrote about the logistical issues of praying at bullets, right?
So Greg wrote a chapter about how even if God was listening to prayers, they wouldn’t get delivered in time to outrun a bullet. I don’t know all the rules on cantrips or casting cleric spells as a ritual, but Greg does. He’s done the math and “attackers can kill your youngest child faster than you can utter a prayer.” That should take care of any Bible quoters still on the fence. Right? You’re not… still thinking of praying at your gunman are you? Ugh, fine. Greg will offer you one last argument.
Have you considered prayer will only anger your attacker, who probably works for The Devil? Greg is frustrated he has to think of everything for you. Do you even like your wife? Because to Greg it seems like you almost want her to die. Again, I’m not a psychologist. I’m just a man reading a book about a guy having an argument with himself where no matter what anyone does, his wife gets killed, his wife gets killed. His wife gets killed. One last time, I cannot make any kind of diagnosis from all the times his wife, his wife gets killed.
Maybe a sports metaphor will help.
Consider your wife and kids getting kidnapped like a baseball game. Every time one of you gets beaten to death with a bat, that’s a run for Satan. Greg isn’t sure where he was going with this, but you and God lost by 10. And most of it was sex crime.
I know the book just got awesome, but someone should tell Greg’s wife she really is in danger.
You’ve noticed by now Greg is a sophist, which means being right is less important to him than saying a cute little thing. So when he’s doing his side of the gun control debate, his argument is a bumper sticker about shooting liberals. These kinds of things aren’t persuasive and they’re a little embarrassing, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Or does he?
I’ve watched this man’s imaginary family get pornographically ripped apart at least ten times this book, but the most shocking part came here:
Not only does Greg know he’s a sophist, he loves it. He dedicated an entire chapter of his book to these witless catchphrases, these melonless Gallagher observations. Greg is a successful author on at least his 50th book. He’s trying to navigate the ethics and morality of unsanctioned executions, and he is publishing, word-for-word, the same content as 2007’s most forgotten Myspace aunt.
Let’s see one of the random wit and wisdoms surrounding these issues:
Oh. It’s the one from earlier, but this time he says it’s wrong? You should never shoot your government b-because the government is evil? I don’t know, man. Look, Greg’s not a smart person. But in fairness, let me show you a good one. Pacifists may have to watch their families die over and over, but it’s nothing compared to the sting of this perfect insult:
Fucking boom. You pacifist sons of bitches. The name for your group sounds kind of mean if you add two hyphens and get generous with your interpretation of “pass.” It’s over. Once again you sat back and watched your life get destroyed by a maniac. Except there’s one last thing… your final boss. Greg has not forgotten Gandhi. Remember him!? Your real god!!??
The Gandhi section goes on for a while, and it’s intense. Greg fucking hates Gandhi. The things he says about him aren’t entirely accurate, but by the time any pacifist fact-checks it, at least two of their latest families will have been murdered.
So that was GOD & GUNS Why I am Not a Pacifist Defend Your Family! Kill Attackers in Christian Love. I’m not sure how to end this, so I’ll say it in a way Greg might appreciate. So, Greg, it’s time for the epilogue. What’s that? You never learned that (simple) word? Oops, try Spanish for ‘egg,’ if that’s not too complicated for your stinky brain (if you have one). Mayhaps you’re finally done giving condescending lectures? To, um, imaginary enemies too specific to be relatable and too stupid to exist? You’re an idiot if you’re not.
Oops! Wait, what’s that? You’re not? Wow. Fuck you? Greg.
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